


A Dangerous Game

by Meowmix76



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood Addiction, Drabble, Gen, Headcanon (sort of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-03-01 02:45:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2756648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meowmix76/pseuds/Meowmix76
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Few people know Crowley still indulges his addiction to human blood. That's exactly how he likes to keep it. (T+ rating given for the subject matter; some people can be squicky/tetchy about exposure to such things without warning)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Dangerous Game

**Author's Note:**

> The 40,000 years is Hell time; he was born in 1661, figuring 1 Earth month = 10 years in Hell. He would be roughly 353 years old on Earth time, which, supposing he was in his early 40s when he was taken by the Hounds, would put him at roughly 37,000 years old, give or take; I left wiggle room as there is no definitive canonical age for when he made the deal.

Crowley sets the syringe on the table, sighing in relief as the effects of the blood injection wash over him, closing his eyes a moment. Few knew he was still indulging his addiction to this day, though not quite as before - just one injection, every day or two. He had it under his thumb and that's where he intended to keep it. Sometimes he would indulge a bit further, always hating himself for it when the emotional high wore off, knowing he was a disgrace to all things rotten for his Achilles' Heel.   
  
But he couldn't help it, either. For 40,000 years, he'd gone along his merry way, little by little losing memory of what it was to feel aside from the demon classics - hate, rage, vengeance, anger, jealousy, and his personal favorite, lust, until memories of those emotions were all he had left, unable to recall what simple emotions like sadness and joy felt like. Weak, human little things they were.   
  
Then along came Sam and the trials, injection after injection of blood, his emotions switching back on one by one, his memories along with them. And ooh, it was agony. Beautiful, wonderful, _intoxicating_ agony. He couldn't recall when he'd felt so alive, so complete. Every silly little feeling that humans were so inclined to take for granted was precious to him, like the greatest treasure of the gods themselves. When it wore off... he was back to the cold, empty life he'd been living, but this time, he found it unbearable.   
  
Knowing what was missing, yearning for those feelings, those emotions, that _life_ , he turned to the one thing he knew would put those pieces back into place. Moose and Squirrel discovered his addiction eventually, tried to detox him, and to a degree, they had. He could control it now. Control how much blood he was shooting into his veins, control that urge that told him to do an entire bag. It was a dangerous game, he knew. And should the wrong people find out about it, a costly one; he could lose everything - his throne, his power... perhaps his life itself.   
  
But it was worth it. Completely. For those euphoric moments of simply being able to _feel._  
  
He sighs softly as he rolls his sleeve back down, having taken to the inside of his elbow as it could be better hidden, and he buttons his sleeve, pulling his suit jacket back on and disposing of the syringe before he straightens his tie, heading out of his private chambers for the throne room. Back to business - the throne never waits for long.


End file.
